I would not display the amulet, which guards my heart by its potent charm, to any eye but yours; but I cannot, even in this instance, depart from my usual habit of confidence in you; therefore, here goes my unread rhapsody. Yours, dear Sedley, ever truly, FREDERICK ELTON. * * * * * TO CHARLES SEDLEY, ESQUIRE. Catania, March 5, ---- My dear Sedley, About two months ago I sent you my confession, which you have no doubt received and answered, ere this. It was no sooner gone than I repented I had sent it, thinking it would have been wiser to endeavour to restrain my perhaps unrequited passion, than to run the risk of confirming it, by imparting it to another. This was only the escort of a long train of reflections, which ended in a resolution to leave Catania immediately; and in order to divert my mind from the train of thought that had seized it, I resolved to visit Mount Etna, in company with a party of Savans, assembled for that purpose at this place. We had all the _de quoi_ for a most amusing excursion, men of real science and literature, and still more entertaining pretenders to both; amongst the latter I held a distinguished rank, for in my zeal to acquire the "hardest science," _ere_ "taught a lover yet," I mistook one mineral for another, and miscalled every plant I met; indeed, I might give you a long list of similar blunders, that raised many a learned shoulder and eye-brow to the altitude of contemptuous surprise! After the descent from the mountain, I insensibly separated myself from all the party, whose weak senses I had so much astonished; and wandering about the exquisite scenery at the base of Etna, I was more than ever possessed by feelings I had endeavoured to stifle; Pour chasser de sa souvenance L'objet qui plait, On se donne tant de souffrance, Pour si peu d'effet! Une si douce fantaisie, Toujours revient, Et en songeant qu'on doit l'oublier, On s'en souvient[8]. [Footnote 8: From mem'ry's length'ning chain to part The object that we love, How vain the pang that rends the heart, What fruitless grief we prove! The dear idea, cherish'd yet, Returns still o'er and o'er, And thinking that we should forget, Impresses it the more. ]